Harry Potter's gone Madd
by gods sent angel
Summary: The Fruits Basket troupe performs Harry Potter in a not-so Harry Potter way. Our story begins with the Marauders and works its way slowly through book five. No pairings, subject to rating increase.


Mwahahaha! I dare you to figure out who's who! No, I made it easy and left the last names in tact for you. No pairings as of yet, definitely TWT (Timeline what Timeline). I doubt the marauders had CD players and stuff back in the…err…70's? Terrible first chapter, please don't kill me. It'll get better, promise!

Disclaimer: I don't own fruits Basket, Harry Potter, or Gravitation. Nope. Wish I did, but don't.

.:Doink:.

It was midday and the young boy was sitting at his dresser, idly brushing his long white hair in to a silky river with which to make a braid. The early noon sun was streaming in through an open window near by and the gentle breeze was pleasant on the boy's cheek as he tilted his head to one side, so he could better reach the strands near the nape of his neck which were proving illusive. His glassy gold eyes were half-lidded in pleasure at the feeling of the bristles gently tickling his scalp and he hummed softly to himself, completely ignoring the owl as it flew in his window until it landed in front of him. He stopped the ministrations on his hair to stare at the little bird in a slight state of shock. His gently feminine features drew ever so sweetly into a wide eyed state that suited him perfectly as he reached out his hand to see if the bird was real. When it only hooted and proffered its leg, upon which a letter was tied, he accepted its reality and gently untied the envelope of parchment. Immediately the bird flew off again and left him puzzling over the strange happenstance.

_Ayame Black_

_Second story room, third window, central building_

_2357 Sutherland Avenue_

_London_

For a moment he only stared with an even more bewildered expression plastered on his face, if that was even possible. He wasn't sure if he should be flattered or frightened that someone was stalking him to that extent and using atypical birds to contact him, but he pushed the majority of these thoughts from his mind as he turned the heavy packet over and opened it. Inside were several more pieces of this heavy yellowed paper with ornate handwriting on them. Ayame was very sure by now that this was some kind of a joke. The contents written upon the lengthy pieces of parchment only amplified that thought.

_Ayame,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed list of necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.  
Yours sincerely,  
Kazuma Sohma_

_Head Master_

He read it again, just to be sure. Maybe it was a prank by one of his cousins or something. It was the sort of thing they would do, he reasoned. He lifted the piece of parchment he had just read away from its sister and flipped it over to look for some sort of continuation. Not that he really expected one; who would call their own bluff by writing on the back of the note _they_ sent? Still not wholly convinced of the strange correspondence's authenticity he shot a suspicious glance towards his window to see if there might possibly be some prattling relation on the walk, tittering at his supposed achievement. Not seeing anything even remotely fishy he turned to the second, and much longer, piece of paper in hopes of some sort of answer. 

_You will need the following:_

Ayame suppressed a sigh; this wasn't going to get him anywhere, he could tell. Regardless he kept reading.

_Uniform  
First year students will require:_

_  
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)  
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for everyday wear  
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)  
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)  
_

_Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags._

The white haired boy gasped lightly and his eyes filled with unabashed horror. What kind of grotesque nightmare was this? Even his relatives who were brave enough to have sent the letter to begin with would _never_ submit him to such torture. He reread the short summary of what he was expected to buy for a uniform and began to feel faint. Tearing his eyes from the ghastly list of colorless items he hurriedly read on in hopes of finding atonement.

_  
Set Books  
All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

_  
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) By Miranda Goshawk  
A History of Magic By Bathilda Bagshot  
Magical Theory By Adalbert Waffling  
A Beginners Guide to Transfiguration By Emeric Switch  
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi By Phyllida Spore  
Magical drafts and potions By Arsenius Jigger  
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them By Newt Scamander  
The Dark Forces: A guide to self-protection By Quentin Trimble _

Other Equipment:

_  
1 Wand  
1 cauldron (standard size 2)  
1 set glass or crystal phials  
1 telescope  
1 set brass scales _

Students may also bring an owl or a cat or a toad.

Finishing the notice he put it down and gazed into space for a moment. This was real, wasn't it? No, it couldn't be. But deep in his gut he knew it was, and somehow the thought was comforting. It was almost as if some part of him had been hidden away and now it was coming out. He found it an odd sensation, but didn't dwell on it too much.

Finally, having decided there was nothing better to do than reply, he began to ponder just how to contact these odd people 'by owl.' Stealing one last glance in his mirror he nodded to himself and stood to exit the room. He took the stairs two at a time as he flounced towards the kitchen and his mother. She was standing at the breakfast bar and flipping through a book of coupons when he came in. He smiled merrily as he leaned on the counter opposite her and drew her attention to himself.

"Hello mother," he chirped, "would you happen to know what 'owl'ing some one is?" His mother gawked at him as if he gone quite insane and he smirked as her unspoken answer portrayed itself.

"Oh well," he sighed theatrically, "Thanks for the help anyway, mother." He kissed the tips of his fingers and pressed them to his mother's forehead before turning to leave in a flurry of over-dramatic movement. Smiling broadly he headed for the door and grabbed his shoes before heading out to see to this odd system of reply.

.:Doink:.

Walking down the street he tried to devise a plan. First thing on the list was to find out how to get an owl, supposing they had meant a literal bird. By now he had come to the conclusion that who ever these people were, they used the nocturnal bird as letter carriers and the name had been shortened to simply 'owl' over time. At least he hoped that was correct. It would look rather foolish for him to be tying a letter to the foot of a squawking bird and have it be for naught.

Figuring that any system of postal transport would most likely be harbored at the post office he turned himself in the direction of the nearby facility and began to stride along the path, humming energetically. As the off-white building came in to view he began to absently paw his hair, preening it to perfection before entering the glass doors in the front. He strode purposefully up to the front counter and smiled charmingly at the man behind it, being sure to put forth as much charm as he could.

"Excuse me, sir," he asked lightly. "Would you be able to direct me to the location of your owling system?" The man stared at him as if he were quite insane for a second before his expression hardened.

"Kid, I'm sorry, but I don't have time for your shenanigans," he snapped. "Please take your pranks elsewhere and don't disturb our patrons."

Ayame nodded courteously and left with all the dignity he had entered with. Passing through the clear doors he sighed. If the post office didn't have an owling system then who would? He pondered this as he ambled down the walk and finally a thought struck him; owls were animals, and rather tame ones, so possibly he could get one at the pet store. With the new destination in sight he quickened his pace and headed deeper into town. A few minutes later he saw the pet store looming ahead of him he once again preened himself and let himself in. Smiling obliviously he found a customer service agent walking about the aisles and questioned her.

"Would you happen to have any owls that I might purchase?" he asked sweetly. After all, it did say in the note he could have an owl, hadn't it? The woman smiled unconvincingly and shook her head.

"No sir," she replied, her tone dripping with forced sweetness, "I'm sorry, we don't carry owls."

"Would you happen to know where I might find one?" he pressed. He really didn't want to go running around town any more and if he could get to the bottom that much faster, then all the better.

"The woods," she giggled, a small yet genuine smile playing on her lips. She looked like a child indulging in forbidden pleasures and Ayame had the impression she would be in quite a bit of trouble if her supervisor found out she was being cheeky. He smiled all the broader to reassure her he found nothing wrong with the comment and she seemed to relax a little.

"That's a wonderful idea!" he exclaimed. "Why hadn't I thought of it? Thank you, ma'am, for all of your help." The woman looked a little floored as he turned to leave.

"Um," she stammered nervously, "you do realize I was joking? I really haven't a clue where you would find an owl. I'm sorry." He turned and beamed at her, causing her obvious unrest.

"Yes, of course," he agreed, "but it was a wonderful idea. Thank you for the tip." With that he left the poor woman fretting over the advice she had given him. He had to find a forest.

.:Doink:.

It was getting late and Ayame was sure the woods wouldn't move between now and the next morning, so he headed home instead. Entering the front room he saw that his mother was occupying the couch while idly flipping through channels on the television set. Stepping out of his shoes and on to the carpet he recognized the delectable scent of lamb chops and mashed potatoes. Smiling mischievously he headed towards the kitchen only to be stopped by his mother's voice.

"Dinner's still in the oven, Aya," she said, not turning away from the TV set. Ayame pouted slightly at having been thwarted but soon recovered and flopped down energetically on the couch beside her.

"How long?" he asked, turning his attention to Jerry Springer as some half dressed woman threw a chair at the man opposite her.

"Twenty minutes," his mother replied flatly. Ayame sighed miserably and his mother chuckled, hitting him with a decorative pillow that had been on the arm of the couch. "Piggy, piggy!" She cackled gleefully as he made a half hearted attempt to dodge the assault and grabbed the companion pillow from the other end of the sofa. The pillow fight that ensued lasted almost the entire time that remained. With about five minutes left on the clock the pale haired boy had raised victoriously, a pillow in each hand. Laughing like the crazed lunatic many were convinced he was, he flaunted himself cockily about the living room as if it were his throne. Three minutes left on the clock his mother threw a slipper at him and laughed gleefully at her triumph. Still chuckling softly she made her way to where he had sunk to the floor in a stupor and ruffled his hair when she saw she hadn't done any permanent damage – except maybe to his pride, but knowing her son, that was impossible.

"C'mon," she snickered, "let's eat, I'm starved." Ayame made no protest as he darted passed her and into the kitchen, fully recovered. Life was fun.

.:Doink:.

Ayame woke up to the sound of birds chirping and blinding rays of sun being shot in his eyes from the window. Damn sunlight. A soft hoot reached his ears on an undertone from the other birds' song and he looked down the bed to see an owl, much like the one from the day before, perched on his bed post. His brain worked furiously to remember the significance of this when the bird took off for his window, dropping a parchment envelope as it left. When had he opened the window? He turned his attention from the window to the letter and suddenly his memory snapped. He leapt out of bed and lunged for the window, but he was already much too late as the nocturnal bird was no where to be seen.

Sighing he opened the dropped parcel and skimmed the contents. Seeing nothing new he absently tossed it in the garbage can near his vanity and made to get ready for the day. Opening the closet he browsed over the clothes hanging there and stopped when his eyes rested on a cardinal red robe. Smiling satisfactorily he withdrew the article and closed the door before moving to the bed and laying the dress-like outfit on the mattress. Nimbly he undid the flowery gold buttons that held together the decorative seems loosely and removed the over robe from the white shift bellow. Casually flicking the hanger back on to the bed he removed his nightshirt and slid the lighter dress over his head, removing his pajama bottoms quickly before letting the hem fall to his ankles. Tossing the pants in his hand in the general direction of the clothes hamper he picked up the heavier red dress and buttoned it down. Clasping the last button which rested just above his waist he smoothed down the fabric and smiled triumphantly. He had designed the outfit himself some time ago and had modified it as he grew. Carelessly he picked up the discarded night shirt and sent it sailing towards the hamper as well, swirling elegantly to head toward his dressing table to do his hair.

He sat down heavily and swung the end of his ponytail over his shoulder. Gently he began to unbraid it, weaving his fingers between the silky strands that hadn't completely dried in their confinement since the shower he had taken before bed. When the braid was completely undone he picked up the brush and gently started coaxing it through the tips of his hair, slowly making his way from the ends of his hair to his scalp as he eased each tangle out under diligent hands. He watched his reflection in the mirror as he continued to pamper his hair, thinking of how to wear it today. Deciding he would wear it down for the day he nodded to himself and set down the brush before standing to leave his room to join his mother for breakfast.

.:Doink:.

Breakfast was nothing if uneventful. His mother hadn't even been awake yet and he had supped alone on Peanut Butter Captain Crunch until he thought the roof of his mouth would never stop bleeding. There had been some old reruns of Law and Order on TV and he spent the majority of the midmorning hours watching the murders unwind and the criminals convicted. It was close to 1 p.m. when his mother finally made her way downstairs, looking much worse for wear. He shot her a glance over the top of the couch before turning back to the conflict on the screen before him. His mother was not the most pleasant morning personality and it was best to leave her until she could cope.

A few minutes later the older woman shuffled over to the couch with a very large mug of straight coffee. The smell was over powering and Ayame could tell there were three times as much of the black granules in the brew than there should be. Grunting coarsely his mother held out her hand and Ayame willingly surrendered the remote control. Jabbing at the buttons she flipped threw the channels several times before turning off the television set and chucking the remote behind her. And she wondered why they could never find the blasted thing. Sighing heavily he got up and procured the item from where it had landed. Gently putting it back where it belonged he turned back to his mother and smiled brightly.

"I'll be gone most of the day," he beamed, prancing in a distressingly gay fashion towards the door and his shoes.

"For a ten year old kid you sure keep busy," his mother grumbled loudly.

"It's better than being in you hair all the time, though," he retorted with a wicked gleam in his eyes, "isn't it?"

"Go on before I throw the remote at _you_," came the half hearted reply. He chuckled softly to himself as he reached for the door.

"Goodbye, mother," he tossed over his shoulder as he left.

"Bye," he heard her say as the door clicked shut.

.:Doink:.

Wandering about town wasn't helping him in the slightest to find the answers he needed. He had to find some one who knew already what to do. Like an alumni or something from this odd school. He puzzled over how he might find one as he strolled through the park not far from his house. He made sure to keep an eye out around him for some one who looked like they might know but nothing stuck out to him. Coming toward the center of the park he sighed and lowered himself on to one of the benches beside the walk way. Lost in his thoughts he barely heard the voices as they neared him.

"Did you get your letter yet?" asked one, obviously a boy.

"Yeah," replied a distinctly feminine voice, "The supply list is unbelievable this year. What do they think we are, made of galleons?"

At this last remark Ayame perked up. He'd never heard of this type of currency, for currency he was sure it was. He turned slightly to view the two who were at this moment coming up from behind him. They hadn't noticed him it seemed, for they kept talking.

"Headmaster Sohma is getting a bit peculiar these days," the boy sighed, shaking his head. Ayame recognized the name from the letter and turned abruptly to stare at them, maybe a tad more wide eyed than he'd planned. The boy, probably 16, noticed him and winked lecherously.

"Hey cutie," he flirted. Ayame glared at him and stood up rigidly. The teen seemed disappointed when he realized just how young his prospective tease must have been and the girl beside him, no more than 15 to guess, hit him in the arm for his forwardness.

"Garren!" she hissed. Garren turned to her sheepishly and was about to say something when Ayame cut him off.

"I'm a boy!" he shouted indignantly. "And you seem to know something about those weird letters. Tell me, how do you reply to them?"

The other boy was completely disinterested at this point and started to leave with the girl who was still glaring venomously at him. He didn't even spare a backwards glance at the boy as he left.

"Whatever kid," he huffed, "get lost."

Aya wasn't about to take that. He fumed heatedly for a second before reaching out and grabbing the boy by the arm, stopping him. Ayame's eyes glowed dangerously as he waited for the older kid to turn around and when he made no move to Aya pressed him further.

"Tell me," he seethed. It was enough to unnerve the older boy into wetting himself, however he didn't reply beyond a bunch of gibberish. The girl looked appalled and Ayame was a little taken aback. He didn't have much time to think or regain himself before her purse connected with the side of his face.

"You little brat!" she screeched. "Get the hell out of here before I really lose it, you twit!"

Aya didn't have to be told twice, the tears welling up in his left eye above the now swelling welt left by the purse. Leaving the couple in a hurry he headed home. He needed to ice his cheek before it swelled much worse. Bursting through the front door he didn't even bother to take off his shoes and he didn't pay much heed to his mother's protests either. Frantically he pulled the ice chest out of the freezer and poured a few of the frozen chunks into a nearby dishtowel before wrapping it up and pressing it to his now throbbing cheek. It was probably already swollen too much for it to go unnoticed but he still didn't want it getting any worse. His mother stormed in behind him in a fury, but her anger abated when she saw her little boy shedding silent tears and holding a makeshift ice pack to his injured cheek.

"Oh my God," she breathed, motherly concern flooding her entire body. "Baby, what happened? Here, let me see." Kneeling in front of him she tenderly led him to put down the ice pack and then traced her fingers over the bruising area with a feather like touch. She made shushing and cooing noises as she did so, seeing the tears in his eyes run faster as she found a particularly sensitive spot and a tiny moan of discomfort escaped the child's lips. Having assessed the damage she returned her gaze solely to his young face and caught his eyes with her own. "What exactly happened?" she asked firmly.

"There was a boy, in the park," Aya sniffled. His entire demeanor lacked its normal confidence as he returned the ice pack to his cheek. "He was hitting on me at first, and then he got real mean when I said I was a boy. I got mad and I punched him and then his girlfriend hit me with her purse and called me a bunch of really nasty names."

His mother sighed and brushed his bangs out of his face only to have them fall back in his eyes. She shook her head slightly and bit her lip before looking back in to his eyes, which she had at some point averted her gaze from without consciously knowing it.

"Aya," she began, chewing her bottom lip with worry, "I don't want you going out alone like this anymore. You're just a little boy and I've been giving you too much liberty." When he started to fidget and make little noises in protest she hurried to explain. "Ayame, you'll get hurt again if this keeps up; maybe even worse. Now I don't want that, do you?"

"No," the battered little boy hiccupped. His mother smiled tenderly and traced her fingers through his long bangs before taking his free hand and standing.

"Then let's get you up to bed, sweetie," she coed. "You can rest your nerves for a bit and I'll come get you for dinner, okay?" The boy nodded and followed her timidly, an unusual thing for him. Inwardly she sighed. She just hoped this one little confrontation wasn't enough to break his normally fiery spirit.

.:Doink:.

Aya spent the majority of the next week in doors. His cheek was almost completely heals and the bruise to his ego was nonexistent. Again he was strutting around like a little cockerel and his mother found herself more and more often reminding him that while she didn't want him wandering around town, the yard was more than welcome to him. During his state of recuperation the letters had continued to arrive en force, and there were a few more every day. He had taken to merely throwing them away instead of opening them first.

On one particularly sunny day near the end of July he was waiting for the owl to show up, just like clock work. As it did every morning it dipped slightly and thrust the numerous letters in to his room where he lie in wait. Seeing the fowl begin to swoop he reached for it but missed, only managing to pluck a few win feathers. The bird gave an indignant squawk and flew rather lopsidedly towards the woods. Ayame, not one to be ignorant, noticed and ran out of the house after it, passing his mother in the living room and leaving her with a bewildered expression plastered on her face.

Reaching the woods he saw no trace of the beast which he hunted. Not to be daunted by a little thing like that he marched deeper in to the woods. The light was impossibly to distinguish after a few yards and he wouldn't have known if the sun had fallen from its place in the heavens with the massive covering of foliage between him and the sky. It seemed like hours, and for all he knew it was, before he heard the faint hoot of an owl. Grinning triumphantly he pranced in the direction of the noise, trying to be quiet so as not to frighten the thing. After another good fifteen minutes of searching he was sure he had found the tree it originated from. Standing confidently at the base he turned his face upward and filled his lungs as best his few years in the boys' choir had taught him.

"Hullo," he bellowed into the upper branches. "Excuse me, Mr. Owl? Could you take a message for me? I need to contact the man who's been sending you all." He paused for a second when he heard a rustling but nothing approached him and after a few seconds of silence he continued. "I'd really like to go," he assured, not really sure if that's what it wanted or not. I just…I don't know where to go to buy all this stuff, or how to get to the school. So could you ask the headmaster for me?"

Still there was silence.

"Hullo?"

Nothing.

"Oi, bird!"

Not a sound returned to him from above. Now he was getting mad.

"Answer me, owl!"

At this point things were getting out of hand. With an indignant huff he set his shoulders and prepared to climb.

"If you don't answer me," he warned, "I'll have to come up there."

Hearing no reply he hoisted himself on to the first branch and began to clamber to the top. After the first few branches had been breached he heard angry hooting from above and it dawned on him that there was more than one of the bloody birds up there. It sounded like there were quite a few. He was no expert, but he was sure there were more than ten. He was involved in his thoughts more than his climbing as he continued upwards and he didn't notice the half rotted branch until he had put the majority of his weight on it. A loud snap brought him out of his half aware state and he found himself falling down quite a ways. With an outraged rustle of leaves he passed layers and layers of branches, most snapping beneath him as he passed. He began to fear he might go straight to the base of the tree when he felt himself connect with a sturdier limb and his fall came to a halt. He was quite stuck.

He twisted furiously, trying to dislodge himself from where he lay, but it only served to exhaust him and seat him further into his new bower. The owls above him were becoming increasingly agitated with his constant jarring of there home and he decided it was best to cease his efforts for a while, not only to regain some strength but also to appease the wrath of his wanton letter carriers. He found his mind drifting off to no where in particular and soon he was dozing on the branches, quite oblivious to the passage of time.

He woke up some imperceptible time later on the forest floor. Apparently he had slipped from the tree's hold while he slept. Sitting up he rubbed his eyes and stretched, trying to get his bearings and make a guess at what time it was. The lack of lighting made the second task almost impossible and he sighed in defeat. The best thing for it was to hurry home and hope he hadn't been gone too terribly long.

As he began to enter the thinner parts of the woods which were more familiar to him he saw that he had indeed been gone for a goodly period. The sun was now rising softly on the horizon instead of hanging lazily above his head and his stomach began to give out at the thought of the talking to his mother would have for him.

Rounding the corner to his home he took a deep breath before finally pushing open the front door, as quiet as possible. He knew he looked horrible and probably smelled of dead leaves, but anything he could do to pacify his mother's rage was welcome at this point and the chance of maybe even slipping into his room unnoticed would be preferable. Of course, little boys rarely have such luck, and Aya was not one of those little blessed children. His mother was sitting on the couch, waiting for him as he shut the door gently behind him. She obviously hadn't slept that night and he inwardly flinched at her haggard appearance.

"Good morning, Ayame," she intoned flatly. This time he couldn't hold back the cringe. She stood slowly, almost robotically and Aya saw she had an envelope in her hands; a parchment envelope. She turned to regard him for a second, almost as if what she was seeing wasn't registering in her tired mind and then the traces of concern started to creep on to her face. "What happened to you?" she asked testily. He stepped forward and put on his most charming smile as he moved towards her and the letter she was neglecting in her hands.

"I was in the woods and got stuck in a tree," he replied honestly. It wasn't going to get him out of trouble, but it might ease his punishment some if she thought it humorous. She quirked an eyebrow at him and he explained. "I was trying to see if I could catch an owl and was climbing the tree when one of the branches broke and I fell. I got caught in some of the lower branches and was stuck there most of the night, I suppose, because when I woke up it was this morning and I had fallen out of the tree. I came right home after that."

"Why, pray tell, were you trying to catch an owl?" he mother asked wearily, dropping her head into her hands in defeat. Ayame stared at her wide eyed for a moment before deciding she obviously hadn't been given the letter the same way he had.

"Where did you get that?" he questioned, changing the subject as he pointed to the letter crumpled in her palm. She looked up and shot him a nasty glare.

"Ayame Black, do _not_ change the subject on me," she snarled. Then shooting the letter a curious glance she answered. "I found it in your room when I was trying to figure out why you ran away. Care to tell me what this Hogwarts place is?"

"I haven't a clue," he answered airily; tossing his hand carelessly as he moved to walk passed her.

"And where do you think you're going?" his mother barked. He gave her the best puppy dog eyes he could muster and began to whimper.

"I think I sprained my ankle, and I'm dirty and hungry," he whined. His voice was trembling slightly on the verge of self induced tears. "Please can't I go to the bathroom?" His mother rolled her eyes and looked about to say something when something behind him caught her attention. Her eyes widened several times over and she let out a startled yelp as the sound of fluttering ensued from the location of the living room window. Aya turned and saw several owls leaving, a pile of parchment envelopes now resting on the floor below the window's ledge. His heart surged forward with the need to catch one but his body didn't answer. Instead he really did break in to tears and he only realized he had sunk to the ground when his knees made a harsh thudding sound on the wood floor.

"What the hell?" his mother shrieked from behind him. "Aya, what is going on?" When he didn't answer she coaxed him onto the couch until he calmed down. Staring at his dirt smudged face she reasoned out what was going on. Either it was a very bad joke or it was real. She sighed; her son wouldn't be taken in by a joke, it must be real. Finally he had composed himself enough to speak and she began again.

"Aya," she wheedled, "Is that how you got _all_ of the letters I found in your room?" He sighed and leaned back on the chair dramatically. Mentally she smiled; he was fine. Maybe a little exhausted, but other than that he was his normal self.

"Yes," he replied.

"How long have you been getting them?" She watched his eyes as he searched his memory for a date.

"A few weeks," he replied, a little unsure of the exact timing. "Maybe a month, I haven't been checking. There's more every day, though."

"Why haven't you replied to them?"

"Don't know how, really," he shrugged and leaned forward again, meeting her eyes. "I have no owl to reply with and can't find anyone who does. That's why I tried to catch one yesterday."

Content with these answers, his mother nodded and sent him to take a shower while she thought. This was very weird, that was for sure, and she wasn't really sure what to do. It would be wonderful if Aya went to this school. It would be hard to explain to the neighbors, but, this Hogwarts place sounded like a very prestigious academy. Ayame was a smart boy, even if he wasn't so inclined as to act like it very often. But whatever he decided she would support him. She couldn't very well force him to go to a school she couldn't even contact.

.:Doink:.

Ayame remained indoors for the remainder of the day, lounging on the couch with his mother and trying to figure out how to get a hold of an owl. They had sat down for tea and discussed the matter for some time, not coming up with any new ideas, though. He had gone to bed still contemplating it and had drifted off into dreams about giant owls running away from him as he chased them with spears.

He awoke the next day rather early and he could hear his mother downstairs waking the dead in the kitchen. Maybe it was her music or maybe it was his dreams, but either way he was much too awake to turn over and go back to sleep. Sighing he decided to take a shower instead. As he walked passed the head of the stairs he saw his mother dance across the room with a carton of eggs and was a little concerned as to why she would be carrying the unborn poultry around in her dancing craze, but he shrugged it off. He had a shower to attend to.

Downstairs his mother was dancing furiously to the stereo system, which was blaring "You Spin Me Right 'Round" at an unhealthy volume. She whizzed around the kitchen grabbing the supplies she needed as she passed them; grabbing the spatula from its drawer then slamming it closed with a forceful swing of the hips, grabbing the eggs from the fridge and moon walking to the stove where she slammed a nonstick pan onto the burner before setting down the carton she was holding and then twirling around, arms outstretched as she made her way to the cupboard for the oil. She didn't even notice the man as he appeared in her kitchen until she almost ran into him. She stopped just short of touching him out of habit and looked up into soft grey eyes.

"Hello," he intoned, nodding a little and backing up to give her space. "Ms. Black I presume?" She stared at him for a second before screaming. Quickly the mysterious man in her kitchen moved forward and covered her mouth with a hand; it was soft and gentle and she rather liked the feeling. "Please," he reassured her, "there's no need for alarm. I'm Kazuma Sohma, the headmaster of Hogwarts, and I have come here to see why the young Ayame has not replied to us." He removed his hand and Aya's mother was about to answer him when a rather loud squawk sounded from upstairs, accompanied by several crashes and Aya's voice. Before she could even register what was happening, Mr. Sohma was rushing toward the stairs.

"Snookems!"

Upstairs Aya had just begun to work the shampoo into his hair when he thought he heard his mother scream. It was short and startled but when there were no sounds of struggle or further discomfort he let it be, quickly washing out the half lathered soap and stepping out of the shower. Then he saw it. There was an owl just beginning to swoop through the bathroom window and it was within easy reach of him. One last desperate streak ran through him and he reached out to grab the bird but only managed to knock it out of the air. Good enough. The bird let out a shocked screech as it hit the toilet and tried to take off again, but Aya had shut the window and was diving for the creature.

"Damn bird!" He yelled, missing it and falling into the tub. "Get back here and take a letter for me!" He vaguely heard someone shout 'Snookems!' as he continued to chase the feathered menace about the small wash room. The bird, however, paused at the sound, allowing the towel clad boy to grab it. Valiantly the bird fought back, flapping and shrieking, but Aya managed to wrestle it to the bath room floor and he was about to tie the note he had been carrying for the last near month to its leg which he was holding outstretched for it when the door burst open. A tall man with grayish black hair and grey eyes stood in the door dressed in the most absurd thing Ayame had ever seen. Its long sleeves had an extra flap of fabric that hung to his waist and all in all it looked very much like a heavy robe tied with an overly large sash. He was wearing split toe white socks that looked like they had been made to wear with sandals and the entire ensemble hung somewhere between over relaxed and vaguely formal. He glared at Ayame and stooped down to take the bird from him tenderly, cradling it in his arms.

"Oh Snookems," he crooned to the owl. He shot a threatening look at Aya before speaking to him. "Why were you molesting my Snookems?" he hissed.

"I needed to send a letter," Aya replied, somewhat mystified. It probably sounded odd to the older man when he thought about it and was about to apologize when the man made a sound of astonishment.

"You're Ayame Black?" He exclaimed.

"Yes," Aya nodded.

"Why didn't you just use your own owl?" The older man asked.

"Why on earth would I own an owl?" Aya shot back. "I didn't even know they were a form of communication until a month ago when one of the bloody birds flew into my room with a letter on its leg."

The other man eyed him skeptically for a moment before speaking.

"You're not from a wizarding family?" he asked slowly.

"I'm amused you would think I am, but no," Aya replied lightly.

"There must be some mistake," the older man mumbled before going quiet for a minute. He seemed to be going over something in his mind. Finally he shook his head. "No," he sighed, "no mistake." Putting the bird, Snookems, down he stood and offered his hand to Aya, who took it and stood as well.

"Let's do this right," he explained. "Ayame Black, my name is Kazuma Sohma; head master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I would like to welcome you to our school as the first student of no magical consequence."

"What?"

"You shouldn't be on the list."

"Oh."

Kazuma knelt down and picked up his bird before heading out. He turned and regarded Aya for a moment. Aya felt very aware suddenly that he was in a state of undress.

"Coming?" Kazuma asked. Aya nodded and ran out of the bathroom for his room. He needed to pack.

.:TBC:.

A/N: YES! Um, yeah, Kazuma is acting very not-Kazuma-ish. He he, he'll act more like himself later, same with my poor Aya. Look at him, he's been through three different personalities already! But he's ten (something I had trouble remembering) and so, yeah. He's "finding himself"…uh, yeah…that's what we'll call it. Right. Bet you can guess who some of the other characters are now, eh? And sorry the last few pages were really shoddy, I wanted to just get it done so I could move on to the next bit; shopping! And no, 'of no magical consequence' does NOT mean he's a squibb. You'll see. I'm debating whether to have them still have the Sohma family curse or not…tell me what you think? Yes? No?

And the first chapter was just to get Aya to school, after this it gets better. Thank you to Kinboshi Hiko for the ideas on owl catching. I love you, girlie! Review now, please. You know you want to!


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